Standing There
by The Erudite
Summary: Tharja is obsessed with the Shepherds' tactician, but why? How can you start all over with only one half of yourself? A what-if type of one-shot exploring Tharja's reverence for the enigmatic Plegian-born man. Rated T for some language and mild suggestive themes.


The wind trailed softly through the raven-haired girl's long bangs. Sand from the baking desert buffeted her pale face as she stood. Her eyes were wide as she stared with incredulity, unable to comprehend what it was she was seeing.

It was impossible.

[*]

The girl felt a chill sweep over her. Wrenching one of her eyes open, she shivered in the sudden wave of icy cold and pulled the blankets more tightly over herself. When the sting refused to subside, she got up, throwing the blankets aside distastefully. This was her mother's way of telling her it was time to wake up. With a more than exorbitant sigh, she pulled down her pajamas and grabbed the robes she had been told to wear. She wished to dress in something more liberating, like her mother's ensemble, given the relentless desert heat, but disobeying her mother's strict orders would be more trouble than it was worth. Bearing that in mind, the girl stuffed her arms through the shoulders of the frumpy dress and growled to herself before opening the door.

"Good, you did as I asked," her mother observed, standing in the hallway. The girl didn't answer. Instead, she headed toward the chair in the living room where she sat when she was told to mind her own devices. "Tharja, where do you think you're going?" her mother demanded, "We have to fix your hair."

"Ugh, but why?" the girl protested. She was still young and small in stature, but this resentful phrase crossed her lips on a nigh-daily basis.

"I told you," her mother rolled her eyes, "you're going to meet royalty today."

"A king?" Tharja supposed with only the most banally expressed interest.

"Of a kind," her mother hesitated, "I'll be talking to the... 'king.' You can play with his boy, the 'prince,' if you like."

Tharja didn't care about playing; she had all but given up trying to interact with the scores of mindless, slobbering infants that somehow managed to match her in age, but she had to admit, she was coerced by the consideration of meeting a prince. Perhaps he would, at least, have something interesting to say, outside of his favorite color. "Okay," Tharja huffed at length. That was progress.

The raven-haired girl grimaced as she felt the brush pull at her long locks the way it always did. She detested the act, which was why she always kept her hair short and let what remained fall onto her forehead. It was easy that way. The final touch was a gold tiara-like accessory that was fitted to keep Tharja's hair separated into three little bundles, the middle and each side, around her ears. She didn't mind the gold as much; it did tend to make her feel like a queen. She liked the vision of power.

What followed was even worse than the mandatory hair styling or big-dress-wearing: chores. Hours upon hours were spent propping up decorations, straightening out tables, clothing furniture, and cleaning every tiny speck and spot of the house. This, of course, meant that since Tharja was small and sprightly, or so her mother claimed, she would have to do all the cleaning that required her to get low to the floor and dirty herself. She grit her teeth and hissed at every command, but after what might have been weeks to the toddler, the project was at last complete.

Tharja propped herself up into the big, pink, velvety chair she had claimed in the living room, diagonal to her mother's favorite seat. In the time since they had begun cleaning, her mother had dressed her hair into a very formal bun, and had donned some more conservative attire than was her habit, a dress similar to Tharja's in color and style, but it was cut short at the shoulders and down the chest so that Tharja's mother could still call attention to her figure. Tharja rolled her eyes to see the woman sitting as she was, attempting to appear regal and presentable with a dress that was obviously intended to hug her tightly and with big gold hoop earrings that shook with every turn of her head and made her look ridiculous.

At long last, the pain of waiting in silence was ended as the door clicked and creaked open. Tharja's eyes reflected the figure of a snakelike man, with a long, narrow face, long, narrow beard, long, narrow eyes, and long, narrow fingertips. He looked odd, not like any king she'd ever seen before. Her mother seemed to think otherwise, "Ah, Master Validar, you're here at last!" She sprang up to him immediately leering at him in a vaguely suggestive manner.

"Yes, you will excuse my tardiness," Tharja heard the "king" say. He sounded like he even had a forked tongue, the way he hissed, "My darling wife was so concerned about taking proper precautions about our little treasure."

Tharja couldn't drop her misgivings about the way the "king" talked, but her eyes shifted over as someone else was being introduced. She watched her mother shake hands with another tall figure, presumably the "queen," and then a smaller one, wearing a robe that seemed to be too big for it. "The pleasure is mine," murmured the smaller figure as it took the hand of Tharja's mother.

"Oh, so young and already so polite!" Tharja heard her mother laud, clasping her hands together in a fawning manner. The two taller figures expressed their general assent. The taller figure that was not the snakelike man then patted the smaller figure on the back, telling it something. In the next moments, a boy with warm brown eyes was staring curiously at Tharja, having sidled up to her.

"What's your name?" the boy demanded rather abruptly. Tharja turned up her nose. "Do you not know?" he pressed with intrigue.

"Of course I know," Tharja replied as she did to her schoolmates, "I just don't want to tell you."

"Why?" the boy resounded. Tharja wasn't sure herself, but she didn't answer. "Is it a riddle?" the boy's eyes sparkled, "I love riddles!"

"No, it's not a riddle," the raven-haired girl hissed.

"Oh," he knit his brow in confusion, "then perhaps it's a secret? I won't tell anyone, I'm good at keeping secrets."

"Go away," Tharja insisted.

"But..." the boy seemed flustered, "How are we going to get married if I don't know your name?"

"What?" that caught the girl's attention.

"That's what mom said," the boy twiddled his fingers idly, "'Be on your best behavior, your father thinks this will be the girl you're to marry.'"

Tharja growled as the words passed over his lips, "Well, what if I don't want to marry you?!"

The boy was taken aback, as if he hadn't considered it, "...I don't know. I'm sorry, did I do something wrong?"

She rolled her eyes, "I'm not marrying anyone just yet."

"Oh no," the boy cried out, "I did it wrong, huh? Mom is gonna be mad at me... I'm sorry..." Tears began to form in the corners of the boy's eyes.

"Stop your sniveling," Tharja growled.

"I didn't mean to mess it up," he hung his head, "Please don't hold it against my family, okay?"

"Just stop your crying," she repeated.

The boy glanced up, "Do you mean you'll forgive me?"

"If you suck it up a little," she folded her arms.

He inhaled deeply and stuck out his chest.

Tharja sighed, "That's not what I meant."

He looked up, "So... you'll still marry me?"

"We'll see," the raven-haired girl mused, "Why don't you tell me your name first?"

"Oh, I'm Robin!" he thumbed at himself.

"Tharja," she said disinterestedly.

"Want to play with my new tomes, Tharja?" Robin smiled at her, "Dad told me it was time I learned how to use magic. It's fun!"

Tharja nodded slowly. It was something, at least.

"So..." Tharja's mother wrung her hands, "Well, you know I'm not one to mince words. What do you think?"

The snakelike man nodded only slightly, "Perhaps... There is much potential in the girl, but I must see that she keeps faith in my master." The figure beside him shifted uncomfortably.

"And how will you test such a thing?" the woman opposite him wondered.

"I will continue to observe Tharja for some time, to see how she interacts with our Robin. Take care to speak nothing of our plan to her. That is the only empirical test," the slender "king" observed.

"I am humbled by your decision, Master Validar," Tharja's mother bowed her head, "I will do as you ask."

"What are they talking about?" Tharja wondered.

Her new companion was sprawled out on the floor, poring over a sea-green tome, "Oh, it's always something or another."

"You don't know?" Tharja leered at him critically.

"Father doesn't speak of his conversations to me. And he gets mad if mother tries to tell me," Robin replied, a shadow sinking onto his face.

"...I see," the raven-haired girl turned to stare at the snakelike man a bit longer.

"I believe we must be going," Validar concluded.

"Of course, don't let me keep you," Tharja's mother bowed her head.

"Robin, darling, come away," beckoned the woman beside Validar.

The boy picked himself up, along with his tome, and waved, "Nice meeting you, Tharja!"

"Whatever," she grumbled. As he walked out the door, Tharja admitted she was confused by what the odd little boy had been doing in her house to begin with. He wasn't very princely. In fact, he was a bit of a nuisance. The raven-haired girl let out a sigh. With any luck, this would be the last she saw of him.

[*]

Perfect timing, Tharja had breathed. This was her favorite time of day: the classroom had been emptied, the other students and the teacher herself taking leave of it to return home and move on with their lives. One student always lingered, however: Robin, the boy in the too-formal robes who seemed to be the instant favorite of every adult in the room, but who was all but vilified, perhaps for that exact reason, by the children his age. He would stay in the classroom and continue to take notes for perhaps as much as an hour after class had concluded, and no one could discern why.

No one except Tharja, of course. This curious behavior had drawn her to seek out the boy one such afternoon, to inquire after his purposes. To her surprise, the boy did not transform into an elder monster and threaten to consume her, rather he smiled curtly at her and offered her a seat, not to be distracted from his work. She sat and watched as he continued to read... read... read... He would pick up his pencil and pause to write a bit more, then back to reading. Still, Tharja was overwhelmingly curious, loath though she was to admit it, about the the boy's rather independent behavior, and so she continued to question him as she paid him daily visits. She recalled that he was the scion of an important house, though she was still unclear as to why it was so important. He was destined to become a "hierophant," one of the leaders of Plegian clergy, as he grew older. Robin told Tharja, between paragraphs, of course, that his studies were intended to give him superior understanding of all magics, some elements of swordplay and military strategy, and, above all, a total comprehension of Plegia's theological history.

To Tharja, that all sounded indescribably boring, but the boy's eyes told her he was riveted. His father seemed convinced he would be leading Plegia's army as commanded-in-chief after their current sovereign, Gangrel, experienced "a long, precipitous fall." It was, at least, nice for Tharja to have someone who shared her passion for dark magics around, and having some small sway with Validar certainly couldn't hurt her, so she continued to visit and chat with Robin at precisely this time every afternoon.

"...Hey," she saluted tersely as she placed herself on one of the desks.

"Oh, hey, Tharja," he shot back, not looking up from the book splayed out on his own desk.

"I'm not in the book, you know," she teased.

Robin picked his head up, "Sorry, I'm just really engrossed in our magic lesson from today. Riveting stuff, don't you think?"

Tharja cocked an eyebrow at him, "No. You actually like that 'theory of dark magic' nonsense?"

"'Elder' magic, please, Tharja," he corrected, "Only people who are afraid of it call it 'dark' magic. They call it something fearful because they're leery of what they don't understand."

"I'd rather just be out there slinging hexes," Tharja twiddled her fingers to imitate the motion of tossing a spell.

"Ah, but don't you care at all about the intricacies of elder magics?" the boy's eyes sparkled, "There's so much untapped potential, so much we can learn."

The raven-haired girl smiled wryly, "It's just curses and sacrifices, professor."

He shook his head, "No, it's a lot more than that, if you look into it. Like, take Nosferatu, for example..."

"The bloodsucking spell?" she interjected.

"Misconception," he waved a finger, "the original intent was to channel the energies of something that was already dying, like an old tree or a cow that was to be put to slaughter and using it on one who was injured: taking from the old and making it new again. It sounds a lot less villainous that way, doesn't it?"

She smiled. This was Robin. Every day they would hold this debate, she despising the very air of the classroom and he loving every breath of academia. It was easy to see that they were polar opposites on the subject, and that was why she enjoyed speaking to him. It was nice to hear something other than an echo out of another voice. Plus, she liked to see him writhe when she had him beat. Today wasn't one such day however, "Whatever you say. I just like making my enemies hurt."

"But isn't it more fun to understand why they're in so much pain?" he grinned, playing along. She shrugged and took a breath.

"You know, you hardly ever cut loose, Robin," Tharja informed him, "Those stuffy robes and musty books are gonna strangle the air right out of your brain."

"Ah, you know me," he dismissed, sounding a bit defeated, "I'm just... you know, a bookworm. A busybody."

"The Robin I know used to get in trouble for starting fires around the playground with tomes he hid in his sleeves," Tharja smiled.

"That was one time," the boy chuckled.

"Still, I wish you'd let yourself have a little more fun," she waggled her finger at him, "You're actually pretty bearable when you're not on-duty."

"I'd love to," Robin sighed, slapping his hand over the book, "but I've got too much work to do."

The raven-haired girl placed her palm overtop of her classmate's, "That's what I'm talking about. Take one night for yourself."

"Tharja, I appreciate it, but there's really now way," he determined, "You know my father. He wouldn't allow it."

"At some point, you've gotta stop being daddy's boy," she poked him.

"I know," he muttered to his desk, "Until then, at least I've got you, Tharja. You're my gall."

She blushed, "W-What does that even mean, you weirdo?"

"I," he hesitated, "I just meant... Oh, forget it. I have to head home. I have too much studying to do." Tharja frowned as he walked slowly out of the quieted room.

Tharja wouldn't be defeated quite so easily, however. She decided this was the night she would make her stand. As she returned home, she messily put her things aside in her room, making it indiscernible from the various cursing and hexing paraphernalia contained therein. She smiled to herself and stroked her hair back, deciding that if this was to be the night, she would make maximal use of it. Getting rid of her school robes, Tharja hopped into the tights she'd been provided to practice dark magic, (evidently being exposed to the open air gave the body greater freedom to interact with the arcane energies) which was frankly as decidedly more comfortable as it was revealing. She slipped on the remaining gold accessories her mother had purchased to accent the ensemble before attempting to drift quietly out the door.

"Where are you going?" her mother's voice cut her off.

"I'm meeting a friend," she replied truthfully.

"You've not mentioned a single 'friend' to me in six years of schooling," her mother was unconvinced, "who is it?"

"His name's, uh, Henry," the raven-haired girl supplied.

Her mother stepped out of her room and ran an evaluative glance over her daughter, "You're going to meet a boy dressed like that?"

"Mother," Tharja growled, "it's not like that, I just..."

"Just be back before daybreak," she turned on her heel.

Tharja stared a moment at her retreating mother in confusion, then shrugged the suggestion off and began to walk. Getting to the residence of the studious boy was no trouble at all: the passing daylight meant the air was the ideal temperature for a walk and the distance wasn't the least bit far. Within minutes she was at the base of the buiding. How to enter would be the real trouble. Pausing to scan the grounds a moment, Tharja noticed some loose stones on the building's exterior. Shrugging and supposing she had no better plans, the raven-haired girl scaled the wall, balancing her hands and feet on the bricks beneath her as best she could. After a rather arduous climb, she found herself staring at the boy through his window, though his eyes were glued to another book. She shifted carefully and rapped gently on the glass pane with her knuckles.

Robin's head jolted up. After the initial shock passed, his brow shifted as he attempted to make sense of the visual before realizing, "Tharja?"

"Let me in!" she demanded less gently.

Glancing to either side of himself, the boy pushed his window open and let the breeze blow the sides of his cloak in a flurry. "What are you doing here?" Robin asked, pulling his clothes straight.

"Trying to make you less boring," she laughed, "come on." Tharja offered her hand to the stately-looking boy, "One night. Just give yourself a break."

He hesitated, considering the option, then begrudgingly allowed her to take his hand, "Let's just... not take too long, okay?" She laughed at him again as she pulled him out of the window as they lowered themselves to the sandy, rocky ground beneath them. "Where to?" Robin inquired.

"We'll start off with a little late-night entertainment," Tharja smirked, "and then have a little snack and something to drink, and I'll have you back in bed before daddy suspects a thing."

"I resent that, but I hope you're right," he acknowledged. Tharja took her companion's hand and hurried him along the desert sands. The village they lived near was mostly inconspicuous, but it, like many Plegian towns, had a thriving nightlife, with dozens of laborers eager to work off the day's stresses without having to deal with the staggering desert heat. As the two proceeded through, Robin regarded the small shops and businesses fondly, having few chances to fully explore them due to his father. He was surprised and thrown off balance when Tharja suddenly pulled him inside one of the buildings.

As they entered, Robin noticed the lighting was low; no torches were set, only a few candles helped lend visibility to the room. There were quite a few young men, as well as a few older ones, leaning back in chairs around tables, some looking a bit more bored than others. They all craned their necks when a line of women wearing outfits similar to Tharja's walked by. "What's going on here?" Robin whispered to his guide, "Are they mages?"

Tharja giggled softly, "Not exactly... Well, I suppose some might find them... enchanting. They're more like dancers." The raven-haired girl seated herself.

"Don't tell me you're about to join them," Robin cocked an eyebrow at her.

She laughed, "No, not at all, but watch this..." Muttering an incantation, Tharja waved her hand in front of one of the women.

At once, she folded her arms and approached a young, scrawny man, "Hey, dirtbag! I recognize you! You don't think I know what you did?" The man reacted with incredulity. "Security, get this punk outta here! He likes beatin' girls!" the woman ordered. As per her demand, a pair of armored men who were certainly not the type to be trifled with seized the scrawny man's arms and tossed him out of the building.

"That wasn't very nice," Robin observed ironically, glancing back.

"You try," she encouraged.

He took a moment to consider his move, then nodded, "All right, let's see..." Robin waved his hand in a similar manner around one of the men at a table. The man stood and chucked his drink into the face of another.

"Hey, you rat-bastard!" called the now-drenched man. The other appeared suddenly bewildered by the glass. "I'm gonna kick your ass for that!" The soaking man stood and seated his neighbor with a single strike, "Dumbass..."

"Nice," Tharja grinned, "waking up with a bloody nose is pretty rough, but I can do you one worse..."

Tharja repeated her earlier motion over another woman, causing her to approach and slap one of the gathered men, "You asshole! You're the one who got me pregnant before he ran off!" He expressed ignorance, but the woman now had backup. Several of the other "dancers" slapped the man and hurled insults.

"Somethin's wrong with these bitches tonight, Damien," complained one patron.

"Who're you calling bitch?" a woman confronted him. Soon the entire building began to argue, and some violence began between them, making short work of chairs and tables, as well as glasses and mugs, which flew everywhere throughout the establishment.

"Now's a good time to make our exit," Tharja suggested, prompting a succinct nod from her companion. Before she could begin a slow crawl out of the door, however, she yelped as her leg was seized.

"Well, whadda we got here?" a burly man held Tharja upside-down by her leg, which fit in his fist.

"I was just leaving," she told him truthfully.

"I'm sure you was," he grunted, "after makin' a mess o' my place, you little witch."

"I'm not a witch," she growled, "and don't you dare talk down to me."

"Or what, lass?" he laughed at her. His laughter was cut short by his noticing a smell. Looking down, he saw his trousers had been set aflame. "Augh!" he screamed, dropping the girl and attending to the fire before it reached his thighs.

"Or you'll have to deal with me," Robin sneered at the man, clenching his fists on his fire tome.

"Get them!" the man called to the patrons, "Get the boy and 'is little witch girl!"

Robin hurriedly helped Tharja to her feet, and the two scrambled out of the building, Robin employing a wind tome to cover their tracks in an obfuscating sandstorm as they made a mad dash to safer territory. When they had reached a clearing, Robin toppled to the ground, panting from exhaustion. "That..."

Tharja didn't need to hear the rest. He would chide her for making him do something so dangerous, tell her never to come near him again, and he would stay locked up in his little tower forever. It would mean the end of their afternoon chats. That made Tharja feel... different: it hurt, but not like a flesh wound, or even like a pain-inducing curse, it made her feel... cold. Was it sadness?

"That was awesome!" Robin proclaimed, laughing hysterically, "Did you see that guy? He was all, 'Ack! Me pants is on fire! Git 'im, boys! Git 'im an' the witch!'" The overdressed boy gasped between spurts of his own labored breath and feverish laughter at his own impression.

"It was... pretty funny, wasn't it?" Tharja smiled, also catching her breath.

Eventually, as he settled down, Robin picked himself up off the sandy ground, "I guess this means no snacks, huh?"

"We'll get you some snacks, don't worry," there was no way Tharja was about to let this night end. Heading in the opposite direction of the village they had left for one further away, absent the chaos they had just created, meant they would be safe, but that it would take a considerably longer walk. Nevertheless, the two didn't mind the passage of time as they recalled the chase that had had their hearts pumping a mile a minute. They continued to laugh at Robin's increasingly more caricatured impression of the owner until they found the door of a tavern and let themselves in.

The two seated themselves and let the last of their laughter out after ordering some food. "Tonight's been amazing, Tharja," Robin exhaled, looking up, "thank you."

"My pleasure," she admitted, "Like I said, you're pretty tolerable when you're not busy being a stuffed-shirt."

"Tolerable," he repeated, as if to feel the word on his own tongue, "You don't like me, then."

"I don't like anyone," she surmised.

"Then why this, tonight?" the boy pressed.

Tharja's eyes shifted, "Huh? I don't know, I thought it'd be fun."

"But you could have done that alone," Robin continued.

"Maybe not," she suggested idly, "but it's not really important, what are you getting at?"

He stared at her carefully, eyes shimmering, "Tharja... I know you probably haven't noticed, but... I like being around you..."

Tharja took a moment to consider. It was true: she had pushed him away when they were little and she was convinced of the existence of cooties, but ever since that meeting her mother had had with Validar all those years ago, Robin always seemed to crop up when Tharja was in a transitional period. They would talk or play, and then he would vanish again for a time... And then, just like a familiar of sorts, he would appear again when needed.

"My father," he continued, "I'm not sure what he thinks of you... but, Tharja... You can feel free to ignore me, but, well... I really do enjoy your company."

Tharja understood what he was trying to say, able to perceive that he was choking on the words. "You know, I really don't mind you so much either, Robin. I think if there was one person I could say I 'like,' it would be you."

That got him smiling broadly. He stared at Tharja curiously a moment before he leaned forward subtly. Tharja took the cue and did the same, allowing their lips to meet. They both came away with a blush along their cheeks. "That was... odd, huh?" Robin rubbed his neck in embarrassment.

"If you tell anyone at school," Tharja hid her smile, "I'll murder you in your sleep."

"Duly noted," he bowed his head.

"Thinking on it now... You've always been a little obsessed with me, haven't you?" Tharja supposed, letting him know of her thought process.

"I guess you could say that. You were always so quiet and distant, I worried about you," Robin explained.

"But why not just hang out with the others? You all like... smiling and happiness and sunshine and... whatever," the raven-haired girl pressed.

"I like a challenge," he smirked, "Plus, you're more fun than any of those morons any day."

Her smile slipped. She couldn't pretend she didn't like to hear herself praised by virtue of insulting others. "Thanks, I guess," Tharja disguised her pleasure unsuccessfully.

"Aye, she's a roight pretty bit o' business, ain't she, boy?" called a voice. A man was standing beside their table, glaring at Tharja.

"Back off," the raven-haired girl commanded.

"Oh, don't git all huffy, luv," he imitated a pouting face.

"The lady'd like to be left alone," Robin informed him.

He laughed, "Listen ta this! 'The lady'd like to be left alone.' You from one o' them special schools, boy? One where they takes yer brain and fills it with perfume?"

"Would you prefer 'piss off?'" Robin balled his fists.

"Come off it, kid," dismissed the man, seizing ahold of Tharja's arm.

She squealed, "Lemme go you wretch! Don't touch me!"

"Jus' relax, darlin'," he chuckled, "I'm'onna take you 'roun' back sos we can have a little fun..."

"Womimh! Hulph!" Tharja muttered as a palm was placed over her mouth.

"Let her go!" he commanded, standing and throwing a punch at the assailant. It was stopped and Robin was flung to the ground. Tharja continued to yelp for him, but the ringing in Robin's ears from hitting the floor kept him from rousing himself. He pondered his failure as he slipped out of consciousness.

Until he was awoken by his mother's voice. At once, Robin sat up, his mother holding his shoulder. "Tharja...?" he demanded tenuously.

"She's okay, sweetie," her mother informed him. The raven-haired girl was stroking her hair. She stared curiously back at Robin.

Only past her did Robin finally realize that the tavern they had entered had been torn to pieces and burnt to the ground. Purple and pinkish flames still burned slowly against the black of night, embers twisting along like snowflakes and the sound of beams cooking in the flames. "What... happened?" Robin asked the obvious question as his eyes shifted back to his mother.

No sooner had he asked then he felt himself be pulled away by the hand of his father, "This is why you're not allowed out on your own! Do you have any idea the sort of damage you've caused... Argh! You are never leaving our home again, do you understand?!"

"I don't even know what happened!" he protested.

"Precisely the danger!" his father sneered, "And you can forget about ever seeing him again, you temptress!" He was talking to Tharja. Robin though about challenging his father like the man in the tavern, but was forced to think better. He still had the scars on his back from the last time. Robin only looked back somberly at Tharja. She watched him as he was dragged off, supposing she would never see him again.

[*]

"It's been a long time," he declared obviously, "how are you holding up?"

She ignored the salutary greeting and embraced him.

"What's this for?" he wondered, looking down.

She pretended to choke him, "I've missed you... a lot, you buffoon."

He smiled wryly, "Here I thought you'd have moved on, found yourself a husband and I'd be interrupting dinner."

"I'm not that old," she scolded. Time had had its effect on Robin. He was still overdressed in that big robe, but his jaw and general musculature had become decidedly more defined, his eyes were less marble-like and more focused, and his seemingly perpetual smile appeared to have faded. He stood with more general confidence, though his posture told Tharja he was still unsure about how he was feeling. "Anyway," she concluded, "you know I'm not much the marrying type."

"That's true," he laughed, "still... I hope you weren't holding out for me."

"Never," she refuted playfully. In reality, she'd thought of him almost every day since he'd left, afraid that she might someday forget his face if he was not always present in her mind.

He stared at her and shifted his weight, kicking at the floor idly before making eye contact again, "Uh... well, it's great to see you again, you know? You look fantastic."

She smiled, "I know. Something's different about you, too, Robin..."

His eyes dimmed, "I know."

After a noiseless pause, Tharja cleared her throat, "I take it this isn't a purposeless visit."

He nodded lowly, "I wanted to tell you, uh... I'll be leaving for Ylisstol shortly."

"Ylisstol?" she perked up, "What kind of business do you have there?"

"It's a diplomatic mission, or so I'm told," he reported, "It's the only reason I'm out of the house."

"And you came to see little old me?" the dark mage giggled.

"Well," he was blushing, "yes... Er, I figured, I hadn't seen you in years, I owed you a..."

"An explanation?" she extrapolated.

He nodded, "I'm not supposed to tell anyone, but there's a reason I'm leaving now, and a reason why you... saw what you did that night."

"What is it?" she begged.

This time Robin shook his head, "I... I really can't say this time. I'm sorry. Even I have to have my secrets."

"Disappointing," she scoffed.

"I'm sorry," the young man bowed his head.

"So..." Tharja exhaled, "Why did you come all the way out here before visiting Ylisstol?"

"How's your mother?" he tacked on.

"Dead. Now, why are you here?"

"Dead? Oh, Tharja, that's awful. I'm so sorry..."

"A real tragedy, now what are you doing here?"

"She was a good woman..."

"Robin!"

His voice wavered, "Okay, okay, you got me... Tharja... I want you to know something."

"Out with it, then," she commanded.

"Do... do you remember what we talked about that first day I visited you when we were really little?" he hoped.

"Vaguely," Tharja shrugged, "Refresh my memory."

He looked down and frowned, sighing profoundly before reaching into his pocket, "My father... he was arranging my marriage that day."

Tharja clasped her hands together instinctually. She had forgotten about that. "Y-Yeah?" she was now equally nervous.

"I... don't know how to say this, so I'll just do it: I've always liked you, Tharja. You're beautiful, you're intelligent, you're humorous and fun... I... I love you. You've always been my obsession," he admitted with a sardonic grin.

"Robin... what are you saying?" Tharja had to restrain herself.

"See this ring?" he took it out. It was a perfect sterling silver, polished to an incredible sheen and embossed with a large, impressive amethyst stone that bore an insignia in the middle. Tharja recognized it as the Mark of Grima, "This is the sigil of my family, I wear it on my robes, too. I guess what I'm saying is... I want to join my house to yours."

"R-Robin," Tharja could barely see straight. He had left for years to return with a proposal? This was too much. "Robin, I'm not sure what to say," the raven-haired woman admitted breathlessly.

"That's okay," he smiled, taking the ring and pressing it into her palm, "I want you to hold onto this. When I come back to Plegia, you give me your answer, okay?"

"Okay," she obeyed tenuously.

"I'll try not to take quite so long to visit you again, okay?" he winked, "See you soon, Tharja."

"See you soon, Robin," she replied to the shut door, "and when I do see you... I'll make sure you know... you've always been my obsession, too." She felt odd saying it, but it was the truth: they had done everything together, and yet Robin was a man Tharja was still fascinated with. It couldn't stop her from her work with and love of hexes, but she had always held at least some interest in him. He was full of surprises, and today was no exception. Whatever he did, he would always be a mystery to her, one that would be worth an eternity to spend solving.

[*]

That was why she couldn't believe what she was seeing.

The day was hot, the sand buffeting the noisy, blood-stained battlefield. She had had no desire to join the military, but Plegian draft laws had forced her to serve as a dark mage under their Mad King Gangrel. She stayed to the rear of the fighting, hoping to slip out when enough of their troops were dead. Suddenly, a man with sapphire hair had emerged from the horizon, and didn't appear to be threatening her. He claimed to be Chrom, brother to Exalt Emmeryn of Ylisse. That caught Tharja's attention, even if the hope was slight. The sapphire-haired man offered her the chance to join his band of mercenaries. As if to answer her prayers and questions, out of the corner of her eye, she saw that unmistakable blue-black cloak rise out of the desert sands, and the tense jaw and warm but acute brown eyes that accompanied it slowly came into view. She accepted Chrom's offer.

Quite a bit happened in the moments following the battle: the Exalt was killed and the Ylissean sell-swords were forced to make a hasty retreat. Chrom was left in shambles, but there was only one person Tharja was interested in speaking to. She crept into his tent in the low candlelight and found him, predictably, with his nose in a book, "Well, hello."

He glanced up groggily, "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm... a bit tired. You're the new recruit, right?"

"Right," she smiled wryly, "it's good to meet you."

"You as well," he hadn't looked up.

"I have some news I think you'll want to hear," she giggled, palming the ring.

"All right," he breathed.

Before either of them could speak, a brown-haired knight in heavy armor shoved his way into the tent, "Sir Robin, my lord would like to speak with you."

"Of course," the young man stood up and pushed quickly past Tharja, muttering something akin to, "Please excuse me."

Tharja turned to watch and frowned as he hurried away. "Crazy guy, isn't he?" chuckled a nearby voice.

The raven-haired woman turned to face it: a redheaded woman had her finger to her chin, staring at the young man's back. "He does seem a bit absentminded," Tharja surmised.

"Yup, but I guess that can happen when you have amnesia," the redhead chuckled.

"Amnesia?" Tharja's heart stopped.

"That's right," the other woman nodded, "Can't remember a thing, other than his name. Strangest thing."

"I... see," Tharja said reservedly.

All at once, the Shepherds' tactician returned and was facing the newly-recruited dark mage, "Tharja." Her eyes lit up. "That was your name, right? You're the dark mage?" he continued.

Tharja's face sank behind her bangs, "Yeah. That's right."

"You said you had some news?" he cocked an eyebrow.

"It's... nothing," she breathed, "false alarm." With that said, the dark mage retreated slowly to her assigned tent. Rain began to fall lightly on the campground.

"Huh. Kind of a downer, eh?" the redhead supposed, resting her finger on her chin again.


End file.
